


Sorry For What Was Done In My Name

by PositivePumpkin



Series: Whumptober 2019 [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Lowkey unrequited gabriphale, Other, Shaky Hands, Whump, Whumptober 2019, but thats kinda how it reads, can ignore if you want, gabriel is a dick to crowley, gabriel is a dick to plants, wasn't my intent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 16:50:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20855081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PositivePumpkin/pseuds/PositivePumpkin
Summary: Gabriel does Aziraphale a favour. Aziraphale didn't want this.Whumptober Prompt: Shaky Hands





	Sorry For What Was Done In My Name

“Hello, Aziraphale,” The voice, Gabriel, made him jump. He turned around, surprised to see the Archangel here, in his shop of all places. Said Archangel was looking incredibly smug, although he normally had an air of ‘Holier-than-thou’ about him, this was unusual.

“Hello, Gabriel,” Aziraphale replied, promptly folding his hands behind his back. He worried his lip and rocked on his heels, anxiety a familiar claw in his system. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Aziraphale had to ask, despite it not being a pleasure at all to see the man-shaped being in front of him.

“Well, I did you a favour,” Gabriel said, placing his hands in his pockets. He looked down his nose at the Principality, condescending, “you were having such trouble with that demon, Crawly, I decided to take care of it for you.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale absently corrected, horror settling thick in his throat. He tried to swallow it down, to no avail, “might I ask, what you’ve done?” He thought he’d done a rather good job remaining calm, on the outside at least. But something must’ve shown because Gabriel wasn’t looking happy anymore.

“Don’t fret, Aziraphale,” Gabriel positively sneered, “I didn’t do anything worth going to War over, after all, we still have to wait for Armageddon.” The Archangel looked at his nails, idly, before smiling darkly. Very unbecoming of an angel, in this moment he looked more like a demon. “I simply reminded him of his place,” Gabriel gave a hearty laugh then and clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder, hard enough to jolt the angel.

“Ah, I see,” Aziraphale’s mouth felt unusually dry, “then perhaps I should take advantage, get to work while he’s… indisposed.” He needed to get rid of Gabriel, needed to find Crowley, to see what the Archangel had done, in _his _name no less.

“Now, don’t you worry your pretty little head,” Gabriel smiled tightly, eyes crinkling up, making his whole face look like the back of a Shar-Pei. Aziraphale didn’t have the mind to look affronted, although he certainly felt it, even more so when Gabriel patted his head like he’d been a particularly good dog. “Come,” And now Aziraphale felt even more like he was being treated like a pet, as Gabriel patted the side of his thigh and began walking towards the shop door, “keep me company while I go to my tailor.”

Aziraphale of course, had no real choice, but he still felt the need to protest, “ah, but Gabriel, surely I should get to work, with the demon, Crowley, having been, er, taken care of. This is a great opportunity to do more in the name of Heaven.” He found himself jogging to keep up as Gabriel walked, pace quick and with purpose.

“Now Aziraphale, what did I say?” Gabriel asked, talking as if he were asking the question to a child, who was particularly slow on the uptake. He then looked back at the Principality, whose face was beginning to flush, not just from exertion. He lifted one eyebrow, expectantly.

“Ah,” Aziraphale gasped, was Gabriel really going to make him say it? He was! Shame and embarrassment rippled through him, “to not worry.” At Gabriel’s ‘go on’ wave of hand, he continued, mortified, “my pretty little head.”

“Good,” And there was that condescending smile again, as Gabriel quite literally looked down on him. Aziraphale was beginning to run out of breath as he half-jogged along to Gabriel’s too-long strides. But finally, they were at the Archangel’s tailor. For some reason, completely unfathomable to Aziraphale, the Archangel kept asking his opinion on the clothes.

Finally, Aziraphale had to ask, “so, what _did_ you do to the demon? Ah, I only ask, in case he decides to uhm… retaliate.” Of course, Aziraphale wasn’t worried in the slightest about retaliation, only worried for the demon. Horrible scenarios kept flashing through his mind as Gabriel changed shirts, jackets, trousers, and fussed over pocket squares.

“Oh Sunshine, you needn’t worry about retaliation from him,” Gabriel did that awful crinkly smile once more, before deciding on a pocket square disturbingly similar in colour to Aziraphale’s jacket. And didn’t that phrase just strike fear into his heart, fear he had to blink back and swallow down lest the Archangel notice. Thankfully, Gabriel didn’t notice as he swiped his gold, because of course it was, card and continued, “if he ever tries to get revenge on you, just let me know. I’ll take care of it.”

“Ah, of course,” Aziraphale floundered for a second, before realizing what Gabriel was asking for when he turned back to regard the Principality, with an eyebrow raised. “Thank you, sir,” Aziraphale forced out, quiet and unsure, but it was the correct response as Gabriel lit up.

“Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time today, Aziraphale,” Gabriel had thankfully stopped looking at him, instead admiring his new clothes. “You know, you should get a new wardrobe as well, those clothes look awfully outdated,” Gabriel smirked, turning his head only enough to side eye the Principality. “Talk with my tailor here, get yourself something nice, I’ll cover it. Think of it as a reward for all your hard work.”

“Oh, no, no I couldn’t,” Aziraphale demurred, sincerely praying that something, anything would come up and draw Gabriel away so he could finally leave and check on Crowley. He licked his lips, still feeling terribly dry mouthed, “I couldn’t possibly accept a reward, doing good, doing my job, is simply what I must do. No reward necessary.”

“How noble,” Gabriel mused, mostly to himself. Still, he told the tailor to get Aziraphale a new suit and to put it on his tab. Aziraphale was more put out that he was still here than being ignored. He was beginning to wonder what Gabriel was playing at, when he finally answered the unspoken question, “there, that should be enough time. No doubt the demon is discorporated by now. Should have a few decades free of him.”

Aziraphale was stunned as Gabriel left, no doubt assuming the Principality was going to get fitted. Said Principality waved off the tailor and waited before he heard the tell-tale flash of lightning and rumble of thunder. Then he ran, adrenaline no longer just a human thing.

Earlier…

Crowley wasn’t expecting a visitor, and he certainly wasn’t expecting that visitor to be Gabriel. Still, they, angels and demons, were expected to be somewhat civil, at least until the apocalypse. They of course, weren’t discouraged from fighting, but it was considered unnecessary. So, with this in mind, Crowley tried to talk his way out of whatever bad situation he just got put in, “Gabriel. What do you want?” Well, he tried.

“From you, demon? Only your demise,” Gabriel grabbed Crowley by the throat, squeezing hard, effectively cutting off the air the demon didn’t actually need to breathe. Crowley scrabbled at the hands at his neck, trying desperately to get enough leverage to release them.

Gabriel only lifted, taking the demon off his feet and slamming him into a nearby wall. He could feel the walls of his flat crack and he felt dizzy, both from smacking his head on the wall and the lack of oxygen his body had inconveniently forgotten it didn’t need. Crowley saw Gabriel’s sadistic smile, like he was rather enjoying the situation. It clashed harshly with memories blinking behind Crowley’s eyes.

He could see a younger Gabriel, could remember his laugh as they painted the cosmos together. Then superimposed over that old memory, was Gabriel’s harsh, derisive laugh. He closed his eyes firmly against the memories. He shouldn’t be here. Wait… how had the Archangel even found his flat? It should have been protected from discovery, the only angel who knew of its location being—Aziraphale.

A new sense of panic seized Crowley, and he renewed his efforts to fight back. His eyes went full serpentine and his body began to dot with scales. His transformation was interrupted however, by the sudden electricity coursing through him. Gabriel’s face was alight with the lightning he called from within him, surging into Crowley. Lightning that, while normally would find the quickest path out of the body, was locked inside the demon by Gabriel’s will.

Crowley couldn’t even scream as his muscles were all at once tensed and he began to seize. Gabriel dropped him on the floor and watched as he convulsed. All the air had rushed out of Crowley, and he couldn’t get any back in. His heart was in overdrive, feeling as though any second it would burst from how fast it was pumping. His muscles couldn’t stop jerking, relaxing for a fraction of a second before tensing up painfully once more.

The Archangel began wandering around the flat, idly keeping an eye on the demon. When he got to the conservatory he scoffed. “Really, Crawly? A demon growing plants,” Gabriel tutted before realizing all the plants were cowering, utterly terrified, “Oh, you keep them here to terrorize them? Best to put them out of their misery then.” In short order the room was covered in shards of terracotta, dirt, and the remains of what was once the most lush and vibrant plants.

Crowley could barely watch as Gabriel left, leaving the lightning trapped inside him like a living thing. A creature writhing, sparking, burning everything in him. Part of Crowley thought it almost like a second fall, but from within. The other part of Crowley was losing consciousness.

When Aziraphale finally made it to Crowley’s flat, he was terribly out of breath. He was gasping, panting in quite the unseemly manner, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the door to the demon’s flat was ajar. He forced himself to keep moving, despite wanting to simply lie on the ground and discorporate.

There, lying on the ground was Crowley. A twitching, jerking mess. Aziraphale stumbled towards the poor dear boy. His neck had a deep hand-shaped bruise as well as Lichtenberg figures branching out from the finger marks. It was impossible to tell if Crowley was unconscious or discorporated, but either way Aziraphale had to do something.

He put his shaking hands on Crowley’s face, feeling the lightning still trapped within him, and nearly sobbed. How long had the demon been left to suffer? Still, he managed to redirect it, sending it to disperse in the ground below. Finally, the seizure stopped, though Crowley’s body still twitched, it was a much calmer thing. With the electricity free however, Crowley’s heart ceased its overactive functions.

With several aborted prayers, as he certainly didn’t want Sandalphon hearing about this, Aziraphale began performing CPR. Or at least, what he believed to be CPR. It was only effective at all because he believed it would be.

Crowley’s eyes opened and he gasped before jerking in a powerful full body seize as he tried to move. He nearly bit his tongue off as he rode the waves of pain as his muscles protested every attempt at movement. Still, he was frantic, he had to get away, had to find Aziraphale. If Gabriel had found him, what did that mean of his angel?

His panic was cut short as he felt something drip onto his face. Crowley looked up then and there, there was his angel. The ceiling light creating a soft, sort of halo around him. He had never seen anything so… so… _Holy_. His memories of Heaven, his knowledge of other angels, all of that paled when taking in Aziraphale now. He tried to talk, to soothe the tears falling, but his throat closed involuntarily, and he only managed a choked off noise.

“Oh, oh my dear,” Aziraphale choked and heaved, as he leaned over to press a gentle kiss to Crowley’s forehead. He whispered against the skin then, “I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.” Aziraphales hands skirted Crowley’s face and chest, as if reassuring himself that the demon was still alive, still breathing under him. The poor dear was dreadfully cold, and Aziraphale was remembering something about snakes not being able to regulate their own heat.

Carefully, ever so carefully, Aziraphale moved his arms around Crowley, lifting him in a bridal carry. He held him tight as the demon seized once more, a horrible raw cry escaping from him before once more his throat closed. Aziraphale gently shushed him and whispered encouraging words and apologies through heart-wrenching sobs. When he crossed through the conservatory his heart broke further. The loss of life of the plants in this room, plants who’d done nothing wrong other than be grown by a demon, _his_ demon.

Finally, he found his way into Crowley’s bedroom. The sheets and blankets on the bed politely moved out of the way as Aziraphale lay the demon down. Without asking for permission, Aziraphale curled around Crowley and wrapped the two of them in blankets. There wasn’t much else he could do; Gabriel would surely notice a miracle large enough to heal this amount of damage. All he could do was wait for Crowley to recover enough to heal himself, and in the meantime, help in whatever ways he could.

And if, while the demon was asleep, he went back to the conservatory, fixed the pots, replanted, and healed the plants, well, that was just his duty as an angel, wasn’t it?


End file.
